


all I know is you're someone I have always known

by cassi0pei4



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Canon, Sex Pollen (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassi0pei4/pseuds/cassi0pei4
Summary: Zelda finds herself in a compromised state in New Orleans, but luckily a mysterious woman seems to be able to help.AU in which Marie and Zelda meet pre-canon and any Season 4 revelations about Marie are ignored.
Relationships: Mambo Marie/Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Original Male Characters (mentioned)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [safo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/safo/gifts).



> Requested by safo in a comment on one of my other fics. 
> 
> Mambo Marie is not the most straightforward of characters to write, so I hope I've done her justice (even if canon doesn't always do so.)
> 
> The mildly dubious tag is because Zelda is not entirely herself, but I think I make it clear she wants what happens despite that. That said, altered states alone impair full consent, so I wanted to tag in case it was a trigger. 
> 
> Title from "All I've Ever Known" from Hadestown.

The bitter sweetness of Sazerac on her tongue felt almost medicinal. Was it the tincture of absinthe that that comely bartender had swirled in her glass to start or was this the taste of freedom that could feel lingering on her palate? 

Everything with her latest beau had begun well-enough. Joseph had been a more than adequate lover and an amusing companion during important coven social functions. He was from a suitable family and provoked no ire in either of her siblings. But overtime, she had been dismayed to find that he had grown rather unattractively clingy, wanting to see her night after night and falling into a jealous sulk whenever she spent time with others. And honestly, proposing monogamy to a witch barely past her first century? What did he take her for, some fawning mortal? 

She had known at once that she would have to end things but she hadn't realized he'd take the news quite so dramatically. It had taken a well-timed, freezing spell and Edward's threatening presence in the next room before Joseph had wisely accepted that things between them were well and truly over and after all of the ensuing drama, she had decided she quite deserved a change of scenery. 

There was something about the French Quarter at night that was just the tonic she needed. Notes of smooth jazz carried in from the street on the salt water air, washing away her frustration with every trumpet trill as she let herself sink into that smoky haze she so adored. There was only one ingredient still missing from her evening and with three seemingly interested prospects she was quite sure it wouldn't be for long. 

"Waiting for someone?" 

She turned to greet the smooth, deep voice of Prospect Number Two who had just leaned in to the empty seat beside her. 

"Not anymore," she licked her lips, the taste of rye thick on her tongue.

He scoffed in disbelief, "Surely a beautiful lady like you wasn't left all alone?"

It was a terrible line but he had broad shoulders, kind eyes and a well-cut suit jacket, and really, on a night like tonight, she might well have settled for just two of three. 

"Do you know, I believe I was," His eyes fell to her pursed lips as she exhaled a plume of smoke, "Can you imagine?"

She smirked as he settled onto the empty stool. 

"Some men really are dreadfully rude," he said, taking a swig of his drink. 

"And what about you?" she leaned in, inhaling the woodsy scent of cologne on his jacket. 

"Oh, I'm always a gentleman," he assured her, smiling. 

"Is that so?" She leaned back flicking her cigarette so that the ash fell in the proffered tray before turning back to him, "Even if I ask very nicely?" 

His eyes flashed with desire and she knew she'd found her prey. She stood immediately, grasping her purse, before leaning in to whisper in his ear, "I'm staying upstairs, Room 606."

She let her gaze linger on him for another moment, before she turning to leave, satisfied that he wouldn't keep her waiting too long. 

Twenty minutes later, just like clockwork, she heard a knock on her door. She pulled him forward by his tie and sealed their mouths together as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold to her room. 

He briefly pulled away, his eyes wild, "I don't even know your name." 

Zelda smirked, already beginning to undo his belt, "It's better that way, don't you think?" 

It wasn't until several hours later, after Prospect Number 2 had served his purpose and been sent on his way with no memory of his evening, that Zelda knew something was wrong. 

At first perhaps she might have believed herself merely unusually stressed, one beau insufficient to take the edge off. But stress alone had never left her feeling like this, so flushed and unsatisfied. She felt feverish, over-sensitive to every slip of fabric brushing against her skin. She was aching, some twisting pain radiating out from her core until she could think of little else. 

Her own fingers felt foreign as they pressed against her skin, the tips brushing against her nipples. She could hardly stand the gentle touch. She let her nails rake across them and down her stomach with a sigh, until her hands reached her cunt, pressing so hard against her clit that the touch bordered on painful but was still hardly enough. She let her hand rock back and forth, until her orgasm overtook her, almost too suddenly. 

It took only a few moments, as she caught her breath, soft sheets sticky to her skin, before want rolled back over her, stronger still, overwhelming. She had a rather worrisome suspicion that she knew what had befallen her. 

That bastard. 

How utterly mortifying. She considered, briefly, cutting her trip short and heading immediately back to Greendale. She would sooner anoint herself with holy water than have anyone ever learn she'd fallen prey to a blessed carnal hex. that meant Hilda's help too was out of the question. No, she couldn't return to Greendale, not in this state -- she would have to find some way to lift the hex here, in New Orleans. 

After all, in city so filled with magic, surely she could find something, or someone, to cure whatever was ailing her.

* * *

Zelda slept fitfully. She woke early the next morning, pressing ice water to her fevered brow as she dressed in her lightest sundress. She nibbled a beignet and tried her best to ignore her racing heart and the aching desire that had, if possible, grown still more acute as she slept. 

She set out from her hotel, determined. She distinctly remembered hearing Edward speak of a local coven in the French Quarter. She would survey the area for traces of magic and then track them back to their source until she found someone who could help her lift this curse. 

She criss-crossed cobble-stone streets, lined with tourist shops as the need inside her grew. She felt almost faint, light-headed, as if dizzy with desire, but she ignored it. As Edward always said, the only way out was through. 

She had just come across a wife of magic, real magic outside a tarot and tea leaves shop when a wave of want crashed over her, strong enough that her vision blurred, black and spotting. She braced herself against the shop door, her head light and the world beginning to spin around her as she swayed. 

The next thing of which Zelda was at all aware was a cool hand pressed gently against her forehead. 

"Bienvenue, ma belle étrangère," a woman said in a lilting creole accent. 

Zelda opened her eyes. The room around her was dark and heavy with the scent of incense and herbs. All she could see with any clarity was the woman sitting on the edge of the chaise where she now lay. She had a long dark face, with deep round eyes and wore a a riot of colors in her hair and clothing, a stark contrast to Zelda's black shift. 

"How are you feeling?" her voice was as soft and cool as a mountain stream. Zelda had an absurd vision of submerging in it, swimming through her cool consonants. 

Slowly she returned to herself, suddenly sharply aware that she was lying prone in front of a total stranger, "I'm fine." 

"Forgive me, mademoiselle, but you do not appear fine." 

"How very kind of you," Zelda snapped, already feeling herself flushing, as her heart rate climbed again.

The woman chuckled softly, "No, no, do not misunderstand me. You look good enough to eat, ma cherie," Zelda couldn't conceal her surprise at the words, watching as the woman pointedly let her eyes travel over Zelda's lips and down to her chest before returning to her face, "But you are fiévreuse, n'est pas?" 

"Feverish?" Zelda's french was quite out of practice but still passable, "Yes, quite."

"It is more than a fever, I think?"

Something about the woman was uncanny. Was it her voice, that gentle ebb and flow of vowels so like the waves that crashed upon the shore nearby? Was it those soft fingers, covered in heavy metals and jewels and stones and yet so delicate as they brushed across Zelda's fevered brow? Or was it those black eyes, so broad and deep that Zelda felt as if she were on the edge of an abyss every time she met their gaze? 

"Yes, a jilted lover," Zelda shared almost without thinking, surprised by her own forthcomingness, and to some mortal stranger to boot. This woman was no witch -- judging by the highly decorated cross on the wall she was likely a Catholic for Satan's sake -- but something told her that trust in this woman was unlikely to be betrayed, "he, he did something to me."

"Ah ha, yes, I feel it now," the woman stroked Zelda's hand and Zelda had to bite her lip to stop herself from whimpering as she closed her eyes in pleasure, "you poor thing." 

Zelda's eyes snapped open, "I have no need for pity, Madam." 

The woman released her hand at once, leaning back, "Forgive me, if I have given you that impression. C'est ma faute. You do not know me, so how could you know that was not my intent."

She inclined her head as though bowing to Zelda's prone form, "I am Mambo Michelle Marie LaFleur, and as you can see," she gestured to the shelves that Zelda had not yet noticed, littered with dolls and skulls, candles and tinctures, "I am priestess of Haiti." 

That feeling she had had a moment ago was beginning to make sense, "A voodoo priestess?"

"Precisement," the woman smiled, "And you, mademoiselle, fainted on my doorstep." 

Madam LaFleur raised her eyebrows pointedly as if to question whether Zelda really wasn't in need of some pity. 

Zelda swallowed, mortified, "My apologies, you've been very kind, Madam LaFleur--" 

"Marie, si vous plait," She smirked at Zelda, "I always insist that beautiful women call me by my given name."

Zelda flushed, suppressing with difficulty an absurd desire to press herself against the woman and beg for salvation, "You've been very kind, Marie, but I must be going."

"You should not leave like this," Marie's hand stroked her forehead again, "you are in no state, ma cherie." 

Zelda ignored her, pushing herself up to stand. She made it halfway off the chaise before her vision blurred, another wave of light-headedness crashing down on her so hard that she swayed, almost falling to the floor before Marie caught her. Cool hands brushed against Zelda's bare arms. Zelda whimpered as Marie gently returned her to the chaise, offering her a glass of water once she was settled. 

After a few moments, Marie spoke again, "You do not have to tell me more, mademoiselle, but perhaps I could help? You said your lover did this to you?"

"Former lover," Zelda corrected. 

Marie smiled, "Ah ha, and when did you see him last?"

"A few days ago, before I came to New Orleans."

"And dis-moi, ma cherie, how did you feel when you fainted?"

Zelda couldn't bring herself to say the word that rose most prominently in her mind. It was far too undignified. 

"I felt," she paused, searching for the words, "light-headed, feverish, and an overwhelming rushing sensation, as though all my blood was drained at once." 

Marie nodded, murmured in understanding, pausing before she asked, "And was it, comme la petite mort?" 

Zelda's heart seemed to skip a beat at her words, "Not," her voice was so embarrassingly weak she coughed and tried again, "not exactly." 

"I see. And have you tried to do anything to, comment dit on, quench this thirst you feel?" 

Zelda nodded, unsure of her voice and entirely unwilling to try and say more. 

"And it has gotten worse each time, n'est pas?" 

Zelda nodded again. 

"Luck smiles upon you, ma cherie. I have heard of such curses, old magic. A warlock would curse his lover so that only he among all men might satisfy her. No other man, nor even herself, would be enough." 

"Chauvanistic bastards," Zelda spat, her eyes closing as another wave of want washed over her. 

Marie laughed quietly, a cool chuckle that dripped like ice water down Zelda's fevered spine, "Exactement." 

"You wouldn't happen to know of a cure?" she couldn't stop the hope in her voice. She had already suspected what had befallen her of course, but had yet to think of a solution, other than the one her bastard of a lover had clearly intended. 

"There is no cure," Marie said, shaking her head, "The curse, once cast, will only break when the woman is fulfilled once more, and no man but the caster will bring her fulfillment." 

"For Satan's sake--" Zelda began in frustration, but Marie raised a finger to quiet her. 

"Ah, but, these old men did not think of everything, ma cherie," Marie smiled, leaning forward, her eyes falling to Zelda's lips, "They forgot there are more than just men in the world." 

And then Marie pressed their lips together and Zelda couldn't stop herself from groaning in relief, opening her mouth to Marie's questing tongue without a second thought. After a few moments she pulled back, and Zelda couldn't stop herself from whimpering at the loss. 

"I can bring you the fulfillment you seek, but I do not wish to take advantage, ma cherie. You are not yourself." 

Zelda cursed the false god's sense of propriety effusively in her mind. There was a beautiful woman pressed against her and she felt more aroused than she could remember being in lifetime. Curse or not, she would be a fool to forfeit such an opportunity and she did try so hard to so rarely be foolish. 

"I may not be entirely myself," Zelda said, her hand bringing Marie's towards her lips as she spoke, "but rest assured, if anyone here is taking advantage of that," Zelda pressed a kiss to the priestess' wrist, "it's me." 

She let her tongue lick lightly over the rings on Marie's fingers until she took the tip of her forefinger into her mouth and sucked hard. 

Marie inhaled sharply, as Zelda pulled back let herself return to lapping down Marie's palm, "Or do you make a habit of offering untold pleasure to strangers?" 

Marie pulling her hand free of Zelda's, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning Zelda's arms to the chaise and kissing her so deeply Zelda thought she might drown in the feeling. 

Marie pulled back, panting, "I do not even know your name, ma cherie."

"Zelda," she sighed, "Call me Zelda."


	2. Chapter 2

Marie may not have been a witch in a tradition sense of the word, but Zelda swiftly concluded she must be more than proficient at some form of the mystic arts. How else could one explain the way in which her hand merely stroking down Zelda's cheek had her whimpering desperately into Marie's open mouth?

"Would you like me to remove this, Zelda?" her own name sounded unbearably erotic on Marie's tongue as her dark, bejeweled hand tugged at the fabric.

Zelda nodded, desperate to feel Marie's lips on her again as the woman smirked infuriatingly, "Non, ma cherie, let me hear you." 

"Please," she sighed, "and yours too?" Zelda clutched at the bright garment as though it were a life raft in unsteady waters. 

Marie smiled, "If you'd like," her eyes raked over Zelda's body unto she grasped the hem of her dress, tugging it up and feasting her eyes on the revealed skin, "but you first." 

She pushed the dress as far as she could, until Zelda's arms were trapped by the fabric bunched up and around her neck. Marie paid it no mind, her head dropping to suck soft bruises on Zelda's skin, first above each breast and then licking down and over the silk that covered them. Zelda's back bowed, pressing herself up, contorting herself to get closer, to get more of that exquisite sensation. Surely, this was the spell taunting her. Surely no one, voodoo priestess or otherwise, could create such an all-consuming want unaided. 

Marie's hand drifted slowly down Zelda's stomach, petting her fevered skin as though she were a particularly skittish horse, whispering soothing sounds as her mouth returned to Zelda's lips only to pull away again, tugging Zelda up and pulling her dress away as she did. 

"Shh, shh, ma cherie, relaxe-toi," she murmured before letting her teeth scrap over Zelda's collarbone once more. 

It hardly required real fluency to understand Marie's meaning, and nothing felt more impossible. How could she possibly relax? Not now, not when she might collapse if Marie stopped touching her and could die if she continued. 

Her hands, now freed, rose to Marie's back, clawing at the fabric she found there to convey some of the urgency she couldn't seem to voice beyond her increasingly desperate whimpers. 

"Si impatiente," Marie whispered, but Zelda could hear the smile in her voice as Marie's fingers pressed teasingly against damp silk of her underwear. 

Zelda keened, her thighs clamping shut around her hand, willing the woman to stop teasing, to give her some fraction of the pressure she so desperately craved. Marie pushed her thighs apart but conceded, pulling the fabric aside, and beginning to stroke her slick skin in earnest as she raised her head to study Zelda's face. 

Two fingers slid deep into her core, thrusting and curling hard before sliding out and swirling up and around her clit, pressing soft and then hard and then soft again, watching her all the while as though Zelda's expression were tea leaves from which she must read the future. 

"Satan save me," Zelda panted. She was tearing apart at every seam, as if something were growing inside her, much too fast and much too vast for any one being to contain. 

"Satan is not here, ma cherie," Marie murmured, her lips inches above Zelda's, her fingers somehow stoking and quenching the fire burning inside her in equal measure, "mais, ne t'inquiete pas. I am." 

Marie kissed her again, licking into her mouth as her hand pressed harder, building a rhythm that had Zelda's hips bucking to meet every touch until, almost unexpectedly, Zelda felt herself crest. Marie pulled back, a smirk playing across on her burgundy lips as she watched Zelda lose herself in pleasure. 

Zelda panted, dizzy and overwhelmed and still maddeningly feverish. Her eyes blinked open until she could stare, confused, at the priestess in front of her who's hand was still teasing between Zelda's thighs, "I thought you said the hex would break?" 

"It will," the woman nodded, "when you are fulfilled."

This, of course, was no answer at all. Frustration coursed through her. 

"Dis-moi cherie, do you feel worse," Marie began, pulling her hand away and slowly licking Zelda's taste off of her own fingers, "or better?"

Zelda felt want roll through her again, but less urgently now, softer and sweeter. Her eyes watched Marie's tongue flicked across her fingers, transfixed, as she began to understand.

"Better," she replied.

Marie smiled, "Then we will do that again, I think." 

This time Marie slid down the chaise, half-kneeling between Zelda's thighs, pulling her ruined underwear to the floor and sealing her mouth over Zelda's cunt. 

She tried to be gentle, tried not to pull at Marie's coiffed hair and not to scream, tried hard not to suffocate between her thighs the woman who was fast proving to be her savior. She wished Marie had tied her down, perhaps then she would be able to bear the feeling of such soft lips drinking from her core, sucking out the poison inside her as though it were a snake and not her bastard of a lover who had harmed her. 

She lost herself to it, to the haze surrounding her mind, so thick in the air that each breath felt heavy on her tongue. Her heart could hardly keep pace, pounding its protest against her ribs, screaming it in her ears, until the rushing noise it wrought drowned out anything and everything but the gorgeous woman between her legs. 

This time when her pleasure crashed ashore and receded out like evening tide, the haze around her began to lift as well. Colors took on truer hues, the steady hum roaring in her veins abating. It was just enough that Zelda could finally see the woman before her, not just her dark eyes or full lips or smooth skin but something grander, shining out like a lighthouse to those lost at sea.

Zelda pushed herself upright, all remnants of the hex gone, but a craving still gnawing her core, wanting an unadulterated taste of the pleasure upon which she had so recently gorged. She pulled Marie to her, licking into her open mouth, tasting herself on Marie's lips and tongue. 

"Delicious," Zelda murmured, her hands falling to the buttons on Marie's dress, kissing down her neck.

Zelda's lips pressed softly against her pulse. 

"Bite," Marie commanded, her voice rough. 

"So impatient," Zelda teased, echoing her partner's earlier words, before sinking her teeth into the skin as she was bid. Marie inhaled sharply. Zelda wanted that again, wanted more.

"Do you like that?" Zelda asked.

Marie's eyes fell closed, as she breathed out a sigh of agreement. 

"Tell me what you like," Zelda continued, her mouth following the path of skin her fingers bared until she reached Marie's skirt and could slip her hand beneath. 

"I liked hearing you," Marie teased, "can you not tell?" 

Her hips canted up into Zelda's palm, as Zelda pressed two fingers through the slick folds of her cunt, feeling the evidence of her words, so warm and wet that made Zelda moan. Or perhaps that was because one of Marie's legs had pressed up against her core as she moved. 

"That's it," Marie moaned, as Zelda straddled her thigh, letting her own rise, the force of it pressing her palm harder against Marie's clit as she sighed, "Mon oiselet, such a pretty voice." 

Zelda pressed herself closer, her hips rocking as she bent to press kisses to whatever skin she could find, her fingers teasing increasingly desperate noises from Marie's throat. With every movement of Marie's hips she pressed herself closer to Zelda's core. Zelda couldn't seem to stop her her soft whines at every thrust, vibrations pressed against her partner's dark skin.

She felt more than heard Marie as she came, her cunt tight around Zelda's fingers, her eyes pressed closed as her mouth fell silently open in pleasure. The image of it pushed Zelda over the edge one final time, Marie's bare thigh warm and slick beneath her, as they both collapsed, side by side on the narrow makeshift bed, panting in syncopated breaths. 

It felt wrong to linger, but for a few moments Zelda felt herself entirely unwilling to move, fabric, damp with sweat, sticking to their skin, trapping them both in the microcosm they had created between their skin. 

With a resigned sigh, she pressed herself up, retrieving her clothes from the floor, and pulling them on, as Marie did the same. Marie's delicate fingers adjusted Zelda's hair, as her own slid two rings back onto the priestess' other hand. The only sound in the room were a gentle swings of jazz trickling in from somewhere down the street. 

"If you were to ever find yourself in New England," the words were out of her mouth before Zelda even considered their implications. 

Marie smiled, taking Zelda's hand in her own and stroking the palm, "I do not think I am built for your cold winters, ma cherie."

"I think you'd look quite lovely lit by firelight," Zelda said before she could think better of it, "bundled in bed, keeping warm on a snowy day?" 

Marie smiled, "As lovely as you would on the shore, waves lapping at your skin, body bared to the kiss of the sun." 

"Only the sun?" Zelda teased. 

Marie smiled but they both knew they spoke of only idle fantasies, within which it would do no good to linger. She pressed a kiss to each of Marie's cheeks, as the woman, caught by surprise, did the same. 

"A la prochaine," Zelda whispered, "Madam LaFleur." 

"Until next time, ma cherie," Marie responded, watching with a soft smile as Zelda swept back out into the warm New Orleans autumn air.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed what you read, please consider leaving a comment. Comments are <3.
> 
> (I think there will be a second chapter to this, but I'm not entirely sure yet.)


End file.
